


When It Hits You

by thornfield_girl



Category: Justified
Genre: Crushes, First Time, Friendship/Love, M/M, Music, Pre-Canon, Secrets, mix tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:23:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's been leaving mix tapes in Raylan's locker. He thinks it's some girl with a crush, and there's only one person he can talk to about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It Hits You

Raylan opened the locker he stowed his clothes in during practice, dressed quickly, then pulled his boots out. As he slid his left foot into one of them, he was stabbed in the sole by something smooth and sharp. He slipped his hand in and pulled out a cassette tape in a plastic case, nothing written on the front or the spine. 

He opened it to find that the songs had been written on the lined interior of the jacket. It was only a 60-minute tape, so the list wasn't too long. Raylan suddenly felt weird about looking at it here, and looked around furtively before shoving it in his gym bag. 

It was the fall of 1986, and Raylan was a junior in high school. He ran track, and had made the varsity baseball team as a sophomore. He could pull pretty much any girl in the school, and he was almost sure it was one of them, some girl who liked him and would eventually make herself known. 

He pulled it out again in his room at home, and scanned the names. He'd only heard of a few of them, and the ones he had, no one at Evarts listened to. You'd probably get your ass kicked for it. 

He listened anyway, because he understood what a mix tape was as well as anyone. Well, it was usually one of two things. It was either about imposing your tastes on someone, or it was a love letter. 

The songs weren't love songs, at least not in any traditional way. There was one called "We All Stand" by New Order - who he had heard of from a girl at a party once, with big boots and heavy eyeliner, who said she was someone's cousin - and he sort of liked it. There was a U2 song that he thought he'd heard before, called "Seconds." 

The tabs on the top of the cassette had been pried out, so it couldn't be taped over, which Raylan thought was a little presumptuous. Though of course, he could always just put a piece of tape over them and record something, but he didn't.

Raylan tried to pay attention over the following weeks and figure out who might have given the tape, but no one was acting unusually, and no one took credit. 

The next tape arrived just before Christmas break, tucked into the front pocket of his backpack. It was remarkably different from the first; instead of mostly college radio rock Raylan had never heard of, this one was filled with radio hits from their childhood, some clearly, and others dimly remembered from drives in the car with his mother. Arlo only ever played country music in the car and the house, but Frances had enjoyed the Top 40 station out of Lexington. 

There was Fleetwood Mac and Elton John, Journey, Carole King, Genesis, and Captain and Tenille. Raylan had a feeling that this one was even likelier to be a danger to his well-being than the other one, should anyone find it. 

As with the first, the tabs had been taken out. 

It was the last week of junior year, and Raylan wanted to start cleaning shit out of his locker. All year he'd shoved old homework, candy wrappers, broken pens and who knew what else in there, and he wanted to be ready to roll out of here on the last day. 

Boyd Crowder, who was in his English class that year, had started talking to him after class and was walking with him to his locker. Raylan had never paid Boyd much mind, despite knowing him basically his whole life. The Crowders had always kept to their own. 

Being in class with him, Raylan had come to realize several things about the boy. First, he was very smart, but probably not as smart as he thought he was. Second, he always had something to say, about everything. And third, there was something about him that made people want to listen to him. Raylan thought that all seemed like a dangerous combination. That, and being a Crowder. 

Even so, he let Boyd walk with him down the hallway, jawing his ear off about something Raylan had said in class. Maybe he didn't tell him to fuck off because Boyd had complimented him, had said he had insight. 

They reached Raylan's locker, and by now they had stopped talking about _The Sun Also Rises_ and were making fun of the teacher's combover. Although, Raylan didn't say it, but Boyd came pretty close in the category of stupid haircuts. It was business in front, party in the back, and what was worse, he spiked it up high on top. A truly terrible hairstyle, which Raylan was certain he would one day regret.

Boyd leaned up against the locker next to Raylan's and asked him what he was going to do for the summer. 

"Try to stay outta Arlo's way, mostly," Raylan replied. "Ain't like there's much work." He glanced up at Boyd as he entered the combination on the padlock. "Guess you'll be working for Bo?"

"Might do," Boyd said casually, "a little."

Raylan opened his locker and the first thing he saw was another cassette case. His first instinct was to close the locker, to try to hide it from Boyd, but that was dumb. He laughed and shook his head. 

"What?" Boyd asked, peering into his locker curiously. 

Raylan pulled the tape out and said, "Some girl's been leaving me mix tapes. This is the third one."

Boyd grinned real big and asked, "Is that right? But you don't know who?"

"Nope." 

"How do you know it's a girl, then?"

Raylan shrugged. "That seem like something a guy would do? Leave secret mix tapes for me to find?"

"Hmmm," Boyd says, "I suppose you have a point. You think it's someone with a crush on you? What kind of songs are on them?"

"Well, that's the weird thing. The first one was a bunch of shit I never heard before. And then the second one was all stuff from the 70s that my mama used to play on the radio. Some of them were taped off the radio, actually."

"Huh," Boyd replied. "You keep 'em? I'm curious."

"Yeah." Raylan shrugged. "If I remember, I'll bring 'em in." He picked up the new one and opened it up to glance at the inside. He frowned, then smiled as he looked up at Boyd. "It's all country this time. And bluegrass."

Raylan didn't remember to bring the tapes in the next day, and Boyd didn't ask or remind him. On the last day of school, Boyd caught up with him on the way out the school, slapping him on the back and grinning at him. 

"We're seniors now, boy!" Boyd said, falling into step beside him. "You celebrating tonight?"

"I guess," Raylan said, "I think there's a party in Coldiron. Same old assholes, though, I dunno. I might skip it."

"Yeah? I heard about the same party, I think, from Johnny. Not my usual crowd though, so I was thinking of stopping by. Maybe I'll see you there if you change your mind."

With that, Boyd peeled off in the other direction, calling over his shoulder, "I'll see you around, Raylan!"

Later that evening, Raylan sat up in his room, listening to his parents bicker at each other. Eventually Arlo slammed out the door, and Raylan came down to the kitchen, where his mother was finishing up the dishes. 

"Hey, mama," Raylan said, walking up and kissing her cheek. 

She looked at him with surprise and asked, "What was that for?"

Raylan shrugged and said, "Just because you're my mama." 

Frances shook her head, but wore a pleased smile on her face. "Ain't you got any place to be tonight? Seems like there'd be parties, being the last day of school."

"Wasn't sure I felt like going," he replied. "Trying to get rid of me?" 

"Oh, Raylan," she said, "I just think young people should go and have fun while they still can. While they still want to, even. At least go for a little while, see your friends."

Raylan looked at her for a moment, thinking about that. Friends, she'd said, but they weren't, really. He didn't want anyone here for a friend. There were buddies, people to get up to shit with, and there were hangers on like Bob Sweeney, but Raylan didn't feel like he could have an actual conversation with any of them. 

He laughed to himself, thinking that he'd had a better conversation with Boyd Crowder, of all people, than he'd had with any of his so-called friends. Well, he thought, maybe Boyd would be there like he said, and they could have another one. 

He told his mother that he'd decided to go out after all, and after a few seconds hesitation, he ran upstairs to grab the mix tapes, just in case. 

The party was in a field, and by the time Raylan arrived, they were already on the second keg. He grabbed a cup and started pulling himself one, grinning and saying hey as teammates and girls came up to greet him. 

Raylan realized pretty quickly that this was not where he wanted to be, and he edged back from the throng as quickly as he could, standing in the shadows and drinking his beer. He wasn't even sure why he'd decided to come, and thought maybe he'd just go after this beer. Not home, though. Maybe the lake.

One of the girls who had come up to him at the keg sidled over and linked her arm into his. She was obviously pretty drunk, and when she leaned her head into his arm and closed her eyes, he felt her start to lose her balance. 

He grabbed her around the waist and held her up. "Dizzy," she said. "Sorry..."

He sighed and said, "Don't worry about it, honey. I can take you home, you want." When she just sort of swayed in his arms, he said, "Okay, come on," and guided her away.

Boyd Crowder was just pulling up as Raylan was bundling the girl - whose name escaped him, but he knew she was the sister of one of his baseball teammates - into the passenger side on his truck. 

"Get lucky already, Givens?" he asked, smirking.

"Nah, man," Raylan replied. "She's too fucked up to stay, I'm giving her a ride home. Then I think I'm taking off. I don't really wanna be here."

"Heading home?"

Raylan shook his head. "Don't wanna be there either. Was just gonna take a drive or something."

Boyd nodded, then waited as Raylan climbed behind the wheel. "You feel like company? I don't really know anyone here except Johnny, and I was hoping you'd be around, but you're leaving. Course if you feel like being by yourself, I get that."

Raylan smiled and felt unaccountably excited by the idea. Something different. Some _one_ different. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Meet me in the school parking lot in half an hour, we'll see what's what."

He got the girl home as fast as he could, waiting until she got inside, then sped back towards Evarts. 

Boyd was waiting for him, leaning against the outside of his truck, smoking a cigarette and staring into the sky. 

"Hey," Raylan said as he got out of his truck. 

"Hey, Raylan," Boyd said, smiling at him. Raylan felt a weird clenching in his gut, only for a second, but he forgot about it as soon as it stopped. Boyd held a hand out to him and they shook, which felt oddly formal, but right somehow, like they were meeting for the first time.

"Got anything in mind?" Raylan asked.

"Not really," Boyd replied. "I got some Old Granddad, which I am generously offering to share with you, if you so desire. We could go sit out at the lake and drink."

Raylan laughed. "Well, I've taken a few people out there, but they were all girls I was trying to fuck. I suppose it would work just as well for drinkin' and talkin'. You want to drive separate, or just ride with me?"

"I'll come with you, provided you'll still drive me home if I don't put out."

"I am a gentleman, Boyd, which I should think you already ascertained when I drove Tom Dooley's drunk ass little sister home instead of fucking her, which I totally could have." Raylan started to walk to his truck, then said, "Unless... you got a tape player in yours?"

For a second, Boyd's face was completely unreadable, some cross between pleased and shocked, but he quickly recovered. "No, it does not, but I got a boombox." He leaned over into the window of his truck and pulled out a small stereo with a tape deck. 

"Sweet," Raylan said, and they both got into Raylan's vehicle. He reached into the glovebox and pulled out the three tapes. "I ain't listened to the third one yet, but I don't mind hearing the other two first. Maybe you can help me figure out who they're from."

Boyd took the cases from him and glanced at the song titles. “‘Slipping (Into Something)’,” he said, reading off the first track. He put the tape in the deck and pressed play as they drove through the night towards the water. “‘Perfect Circle’,” he said as the next one started. 

“I know the titles by now, Boyd,” Raylan said, glancing over, “You don’t have to read them out loud.”

“You listened to it a lot, then?”

Raylan shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t really own a lot of music, and what’s on the radio sucks a lot of the time, especially what we can get around here. Classic rock’s okay, but they play the same songs over and over. I can’t say I love everything on this, but I liked hearing some new shit, you know?”

Boyd nodded and said, “Sure, I get that.”

They reached the lake and found a place to park, then started passing the bottle back and forth as the tape played itself out. When it finished, Boyd didn’t say anything, just switched to the second tape. They were drunk enough by that time to sing along with the familiar hits, mostly only remembering about half the words and cracking themselves up. 

By the time the second tape ran out, they were pretty far gone. “Shit,” Raylan said. “I still gotta fuckin’ drive you back to your truck and then get home.”

“Too drunk, man,” Boyd said. “It’s warm, let’s just sleep in here.”

“Ugh,” Raylan said, realizing just how fucked up he felt. “The seat don’t recline or nothing. Lemme just close my eyes for a little bit, then I’ll be okay to drive, it ain’t too far.”

“‘Kay,” Boyd mumbled, switching to the third tape and turning it down low. It was mostly old-timey country and bluegrass, soft and sweet, and it didn’t hinder their descent into sleep at all. “Whoever these tapes are from, they got eclectic tastes.”

“I know,” Raylan said. “I think I might be a little bit in love with her.”

Raylan woke up just as the sky was turning dark blue with the dawn. His head pounded, and he looked over at Boyd, his head lolling to the side and a little bit of drool escaping from the side of his mouth. On the positive side, his hair had fallen onto his forehead from its usual heights, and Raylan considered telling him he should leave it like that. Boyd stirred awake as he drove, and rubbed at his face. 

“Morning,” he said, his voice hollow with his hangover. He pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and lit one, blowing the smoke out the window. 

When they reached the school, they said goodbye, and Raylan extended a hand to shake, as Boyd had done the night before. This time it meant something a little different, though. This time it felt something like an agreement. “I’ll see you around, Boyd,” Raylan said. Boyd nodded before getting into his truck and driving away. 

Raylan thought they might hang out again that summer, but it never happened. He would look for him at parties, but he was never at any of the ones Raylan went to. He didn’t know his number, and he would have felt too weird calling anyway. It wasn’t like they were friends, really. Plus, to be honest, Bo Crowder scared the crap out of him. 

The summer seemed to drag, and he was almost glad to see his Senior year start, come September. With the first week of school came the first mix tape of the school year. He found it in his backpack when he got home, with no clue as to when or how someone slipped it in there. This one was a little different in that it had different kinds of music, all mixed together. There was some current, or recent stuff that he wasn’t familiar with, some older hits, and some instrumental progressive shit at the end that he pretty much hated. He was excited that they’d started up again. He loved a good mystery. 

The tapes came more often this year, every two months or so, and none of them were similar to the others. One of them had classical music on it, and one just had a single album - Bob Dylan’s _Blood On the Tracks_ , which Raylan had to admit was pretty fucking amazing. He listened to that one a lot. He wondered if the tape maker had wanted to use a song from it, but couldn’t choose because there were so many great ones. 

No one stepped forward, no one paid him any special attention. He dated a few girls, and he played some of the tapes for them, but none of them took credit, and most of them turned up their noses at the music. 

Boyd Crowder was in his English class again, and Raylan always listened to him talk about the books. He’d started thinking maybe Boyd really was as smart as he thought he was, because he had ideas about these books they were reading that would never have occurred to him, but that once he said them, made perfect sense. Sometimes they’d talk for a few minutes on the way out of class, but they didn’t sit together at lunch or hang out after. Both of their sets of friends would have thought it was weird. 

When the third tape was waiting for him in his locker the day they returned from Christmas break, he mentioned it to Boyd. He was the only one who knew about them (other than the sender, of course), and it was starting to slightly creep Raylan out, so he needed to tell someone. 

“It’s weird, right?” Raylan said as they walked down the hall from class. “What are they getting out of this? It’s not like they’re asking me if I like the tapes, or talking to me about them. Unless it’s you, ha ha,” Raylan laughed. 

“Ha ha,” Boyd echoed. 

“You want to hang out again some time?” Raylan blurted, without hardly thinking about it. “Tonight, maybe?”

Boyd looked at him with eyebrows raised, but said, “Sure. Meet you at the same place around 8. You bring the liquor this time.”

They took Boyd’s truck this time. Raylan had brought along the tapes he’d received since he’d last hung with Boyd, but he felt strangely shy about offering to play them. Boyd solved that by reaching behind the seat and pulling out the little boombox, saying, “You got music?” Raylan grinned and put in the first one. 

They parked in the woods, by a drop off, this time. They had a dizzying view of a valley, barren trees and half-frozen creek. Raylan had stolen a half-empty handle of Arlo’s Wild Turkey, and he was fairly sure the old man would try to kick his ass for it. He almost hoped he would, because Raylan was pretty much done taking that shit. Next time Arlo tried it, he’d end up on the goddamn floor. 

They drank and talked, occasionally commenting on a song, but mostly talking about Harlan, and what their plans were. Neither of them had any prospects, their grades weren’t anywhere near enough to get a scholarship to any school, not that college seemed like a real idea anyway, not for them. 

“The mine, then,” Boyd says, not really asking.

“For me, I guess so,” Raylan replied. “Ain’t you gonna work for your daddy?”

“Ah, well,” Boyd said carefully, looking away. “That’s the question of the hour, Raylan.”

“What do you mean?”

Boyd suddenly looked right back at him, eyes boring into his, and said, “I feel as though I am approaching a crossroads. There are choices to make, you see, paths to choose from. I can chase after this desire or that, follow this truth or another one. But once I choose, I fear I will have set myself on course towards a destiny that must be borne out. It’s a daunting prospect.”

Raylan was silent for a bit, taking the time to sip from the bottle, then said, “I don’t know, Boyd. If it’s a course you’re set on, like a train on tracks, I don’t think you gotta stay on it if you don’t like it. You can... get off at the next stop. Then you’re somewheres else than you would’ve been, but... oh, fuck it. I can’t do metaphors for shit.” He laughed at himself, but Boyd didn’t laugh. He just stared at him for a few moments, then took a drink. 

“That wasn’t bad,” he said quietly. “Maybe you’re right.”

The tape ended, startling both of them with the sharp click of the play button popping up. Raylan put it back in its case and slipped in _Blood on the Tracks_. They both fell silent as he started singing, _Early one morning, the sun was shining, I was layin’ in bed..._. Their talk tapered off, and they mostly listened in silence, once in awhile commenting on a lyric they liked especially. 

When it was over, Raylan asked, "What did you think?"

Boyd smiled in a weird way, and Raylan thought he looked like he was hiding something. Then he said, "I think it's the saddest thing I've ever heard, and one of the best."

Raylan nodded. "I've listened to it about fifty times since I got it. I know why they couldn't pick a song out of it for a mix. They all tell a story together. I guess it's about the end of a relationship, huh?"

"I think it's about leaving, and being left behind, and letting go or not letting go. It's about carrying that person in your heart forever."

Raylan looked at him with wide eyes and said, "You got all that from one listen?"

"I've heard it before," he said, then shrugged. "Bob Dylan is our greatest living songwriter, Raylan. Even if he is some kinda hippie."

"You think? What about Springsteen? That 'Born to Run' song sounds like poetry, don't you think? 'At night we ride through mansions of glory in suicide machines'. And he's singin' about New Jersey. He even makes that place sound like it means something."

Boyd was shaking his head hard, and he looked almost horrified. "First off, there is no Bruce Springsteen without Bob Dylan. Second, there ain't a comparison between Dylan's gut-wrenching, lovely, often absurd but always evocative lyrics, and fuckin' overblown, pompous 'Born to Run.' Now, talk to me about _Nebraska_ and you might have a better argument. But still, no. Just no."

Raylan found himself staring at Boyd during this little speech, fascinated by his conviction. He didn't speak right away after Boyd stopped talking, and Boyd said, "What?"

"Oh," Raylan said, startled, "nothing. Just... I didn't know you knew about music. You look like such a headbanger with that hair, I thought you might only know about, like, Dokken and Iron Maiden and shit like that."

"You don't like my hair, Raylan?" Boyd was grinning at him, head tilted to the side.

"It's the worst, Boyd. The absolute fucking worst. How do you ever get laid with that hairstyle?" Raylan realized he was fairly drunk at this point, and maybe he should shut his mouth. Why should he care about Boyd's hair anyway?

"Women love my hair, I'll have you know. They think it looks dangerous."

"It looks fucking stupid," Raylan shot back. Why this was suddenly important to him, God only knew. "You should cut it. It don't suit you. You're too-" Raylan cut himself off. Jesus, what in the hell was wrong with him? He didn't know Boyd well enough to say what he was or wasn't.

"Too what, Raylan?" Boyd asked softly.

"Too smart," Raylan said. "Too serious. You ought to look like an outlaw, not an asshole."

"Well," Boyd said, still watching him, "I will take it under advisement."

They didn't end up drinking as much on this occasion as they had the first time, so there was no need to pass out in the truck. Boyd drove him back to the school parking lot and dropped him off. It felt like they had an understanding of some kind now, and every time Raylan found a new tape hidden somewhere in his belongings, he'd tell Boyd, and they'd meet up to drink, and talk, and listen. 

Raylan wasn't sure why he waited for the cassettes to appear before asking Boyd to hang out. Partly, it was that he didn't want to go and do stupid shit with Boyd, or common things, or hang out with him around other people who might not see either of them in the way they understood each other. He didn't know how to ask for that. And so, he felt as if he needed an excuse, because otherwise it seemed a little... weird. 

The tapes stopped at the end of the school year, and nothing was revealed. No one stepped forward to claim their credit for what had ended up being something pretty fantastic, really. He'd made a new friend because of them, even if it had been someone he'd known all his life. 

He could only guess it was maybe a younger girl, someone shy and bookish, someone you'd never guess. Still waters that run deep, like he heard his mama say on occasion. He liked that idea, and he wished he knew. Maybe he could surprise her too. 

He started up at the mine the very same week as Boyd did. Like they did all young, fit boys, the company sent them down to rob the pillars. It was very dangerous work, and the reason they wanted boys like them was because they could run the fastest if it started to cave on them. 

On their first day, Raylan lined up behind several other, older Harlan men, noting the slump of their shoulders, the resignation in their eyes. His stomach started to turn over, and he might even have been close to bolting, when he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind. He turned, and almost immediately broke into a huge, probably completely inappropriate grin. 

"Your hair!" he said, as he came face to face with Boyd, mullet all gone and the front still a little spiky, but cut short. He looked... well, he looked really good. In a strange way, almost pretty, which didn't make sense since the new haircut made him look more masculine, not less. 

"Do I look like an outlaw or an asshole now?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with humor.

"You look like you're fixin' to be a coal miner, son," Raylan said, his smile smaller now, grimmer. 

"Raylan," Boyd said, looking down as he approached the card punch, "would you mind if I were to break with tradition and ask you to drink with me after shift?"

"No," Raylan replied, his stomach doing funny things again, for reasons which he didn't really want to examine at the moment, but that somehow had to do with Boyd's hair and music and whiskey, and not the mine at all. "Something to look forward to, right?"

Boyd just looked at him for a second, then nodded.

The day was uneventful, even if Raylan did hate almost every second of it. From time to time, Boyd would crack a joke, and they'd grin at each other, and that was alright. 

After, at Audrey's, Boys raised his glass and asked, "What should we toast to, Raylan?"

Raylan's mind was a blank, and all he could do was try not to stare at Boyd and his new haircut and the coal dust that lingered by his ears and on his neck. "I-I don't know," he said, his voice coming out as a whisper at first. 

Boyd was looking at him thoughtfully, and he said, "Alright. How about to new traditions?"

Raylan smiled and lifted his glass, then drank half of it down in one swallow. "Can't afford to do this every day though," he said. "Trying to save some money."

"Same here," Boyd said. "Sometimes Johnny sells me a bottle cheap, under the table, depending on how much his daddy's been around the bar."

Raylan sipped at his drink again. "Let me know, I'll go in."

It went from there, drinking together once or twice a week, to hanging out almost every night. They didn't always drink, though, sometimes they just listened to Raylan's mix tapes, or if it was late they could get a couple of stations from Nashville in Boyd's truck. They both liked the old stuff the best, Hank and Patsy and Loretta Lynn. Kitty Wells, the Carter family and of course, Johnny Cash. 

Raylan couldn't say no, couldn't stop himself from saying yes to whatever Boyd might suggest, but it was becoming increasingly difficult for him. He couldn't stop staring at him, for one thing, and he was afraid he might drink just a little too much one night and do what he knew he really wanted to do, which was to reach out and touch him on the side of his long and really very nice neck. 

He knew it would be the end of everything. There's no way Boyd could forgive him something like that, there's no way he'd understand feeling that way about a boy, even if he did say he liked that one Smiths song, "This Charming Man," from the first tape. 

That was one hell of a gay song, and Raylan had felt uncomfortable when it had come on, that first night. He'd first gone quiet, then tried to cover it with casual conversation. Raylan wasn't gay, but he was _something_ other, something not quite the same. He knew it, he'd known it for a long time, and he didn't want anyone else to know it, ever. 

Boyd hadn't acted like Raylan had been weird, though, and he'd just said he liked the song because it sounded happy, but was really a little dark, because the guy singing it sounded scared. Raylan thought he knew why he might be scared. 

So maybe Boyd wouldn't hate him, but everything would change. If Boyd wasn't his friend any longer, if they weren't brothers down in the mine, Raylan would have no choice but to leave. No way he could work down there alone, even if Boyd was right next to him.

One night, there was a close call. They'd gotten high instead of drinking, which was rare because they couldn't really afford it, but Boyd knew someone who had gotten a large amount to sell, and he'd agreed to middleman for him. He wasn't making a ton of money from it, but he got free weed out of the deal, at least. 

They'd been so high, rolling around on the ground in helpless laughter, and Boyd had rolled over to try to sit up. He'd leaned over and pounded Raylan on the chest once, talking about how fucked up he was, and Raylan had almost reached up to pull him down. It was pure instinct, and it had scared the shit out of him.

For about a week after, Raylan made excuses, put Boyd off. He tried to act the same as always, but it was self-conscious and felt all wrong. On Friday, Boyd walked over and leaned against the wall next to Raylan's locker as he started to enter the lock's combination. 

"Raylan, it's the weekend. We actually got a day off tomorrow, and I know you want to come drink with me."

"Uh," Raylan said, pausing in his task and realizing he'd forgotten where he was with the lock. He spun it to reset it, and said, "I don't know. Arlo's been on a tear lately. I feel like my mother might want me around."

"Hm," Boyd said, "Alright. Course, wasn't it you who told me he's worse when you're around? It's seein' you that gets him so pissed off?"

"Boyd, I don't know. Maybe tomorrow, alright?"

"Sure." Boyd shrugged and pushed off the wall. "See you around, Raylan." He left the locker room, and Raylan could finally concentrate on opening his locker. 

When he got it open, it felt like everything around him disappeared. The small rectangle, so familiar and so ordinary, but not here. That it was here, now, meant he'd been wrong about everything. 

It looked just like all the others, no writing on the outside. He picked it up, turned it over in his hands a few times, laughed softly in something like wonder, then grabbed his stuff and ran to his truck. 

There was something waiting for him there, as well. In the passenger seat was Boyd's stereo, tape deck open and waiting. Raylan smiled and shook his head. Boyd wanted him to listen first, so he would. He put in the cassette and sat there listening, in the mine parking lot, as the sky grew dark. 

By the time he was halfway through, it was obvious what kind of mix tape this was. Not like the others, filled with music to challenge or impress or inform him, or with nostalgia from their childhoods, but the the other kind. They were songs that talked to him, songs that meant someone understood him, someone cared about him, someone wanted him. 

Some were love songs, others spoke to him in different ways, seeming to be about him and his life in ways he might never have noticed if they hadn't been put together like this.

When side one ran out, Raylan didn't bother to flip it over. He didn't need any more information to do what he was aching to do. 

He drove to Evarts, to the school parking lot where they always left from. Boyd was leaning against his truck, smoking and smiling as he watched Raylan drive up. 

Raylan parked and got out, walking towards Boyd slowly. "You're smiling," Raylan said, "but how do you know I ain't here to kick your ass?"

Boyd shrugged. "You might be," he said, "but at least I'd know, then. Or I don't know, maybe I still wouldn't." He dropped the glowing butt to the ground and stepped on it. "So, what's it to be, Raylan? Which path?"

Raylan stepped forward again. "All those tapes. They were all you?" He knew they were, and wasn't even sure why he was asking. 

Boyd nodded. 

"Why? All that time?"

Boyd looked down, smiling uncomfortably, and scratched the back of his head. "You had it right from the start. You just got one little detail wrong."

Raylan blinked at him a few times. "What if I didn't... I mean... Boyd, you're-"

"Raylan, come on. I've been paying attention, son. I _know._ Obviously you didn't, which I can't help thinking is more a credit to your cluelessness than my stellar acting abilities."

"Oh," Raylan said, feeling dazed with the knowledge that his secret wasn't any kind of secret. He wondered if it was so clear to anyone else.

"Yeah, oh. So. Are we hanging out tonight, or what? Are you done with trying to avoid me so you don't forget yourself and put your hands all over me?"

Raylan's eyes widened, because somehow the idea that he could actually, maybe, put his hands on Boyd was only now reaching his brain. He licked his lips unconsciously, and Boyd grinned, then reached into the cab of his truck to retrieve a jar of shine. 

Boyd walked up close to Raylan, but didn't touch him. "You ready?" he asked quietly. 

Raylan huffed a soft laugh and said, "I don't rightly know. Let's go find out."

Later, much later, after some drinking and some working up of nerve from both parties, they slid closer together on the bench seat of Raylan's truck. Raylan's heart had never beat so hard or so fast, he was certain. The tape had been turned over once and would need to be flipped again before long. The boombox had autoreverse, but Boyd said it would damage the tape after awhile.

He put a hand on Boyd's arm, turning slightly into him, but not looking at his face. "Boyd, what are we doing here?"

Boyd made some kind of noise that sounded half-terrified and half-relieved. He turned also, and put his hands on Raylan's shoulders. He leaned in slowly and kissed him on the lips, carefully and chastely. The word "chivalrous" came to Raylan's mind, and it annoyed him because he surely didn't want to be treated like a lady.

Raylan wrapped his arms around Boyd's waist and pushed forward, laying him down on the seat and draping himself on top. He kissed him slow and hot, and it felt good and right, and different, but the basics were the same. Boyd tasted like moonshine and coal dirt, and Raylan thought maybe someone should write a song about that. 

He was hard, and Boyd was too, but he didn't think he was ready to deal with that just yet. They kissed, and kissed, and touched with fingertips on their faces and necks - Boyd's neck did not disappoint, and Raylan licked a stripe up the side of it at one point, prompting a surprised gasp from Boyd. 

He wanted to stay and make out all night, but he also wanted to get home and jerk off, because he was too turned on to think or function properly. 

"Raylan," Boyd panted, "should we- I can't keep doing this."

Raylan was on top of him, and he pressed his hips into Boyd, rubbing a little back and forth. "I know. Maybe... if we just..." He moved a little more, and Boyd's ankles crossed with his, locking them together.

Boyd's face looked almost distressed, and Raylan asked if he was alright. Boyd shook his head. "Need... more, Raylan, please." Raylan kissed him hard, licking deep into his mouth, ground himself down into Boyd, then jerked up quickly, holding him at the hips and breathing wetly into his mouth as he finally found his release. 

"Raylan," Boyd whispered, "I didn't. I have to..." He unzipped quickly and pulled out his dick. "I can't help it, I need-" He cut off his words abruptly as he started pulling up on himself. Raylan watched for a few seconds, then looked at Boyd's face, his eyes closed, head thrown back on the seat. 

His long, graceful neck was completely exposed, and Raylan couldn't stop himself from putting his mouth on it. He leaned in and sucked gently, just below his Adam's apple, and Boyd cried out, "God _damn!_ " as his come shot out over his hand and splattered on Raylan's shirt. 

"Sorry," Boyd muttered, but Raylan barely heard it because he was kissing him again. Boyd was grasping at his arms, and Raylan couldn't tell if he was trying to push him away or pull him in, but Raylan only wanted more, wanted to be closer. 

"Boyd," he mumbled against his mouth. "Boyd," he repeated, and it felt like he didn't know anything else at that moment, couldn't think anything else. 

Boyd moved his hands up higher on Raylan's arms, sliding them over his shoulders and upper back, wrapping his arms around him, sinking his face into Raylan's neck. It was enough, what Raylan really needed. He put his arms around Boyd's waist and held him close. They sat like that until the tape side ended. 

Boyd pulled away, gently disentangling himself from Raylan's arms, but staying close and taking his hand. "So," he began quietly, "I guess you liked them tapes."

"They let me know you. I love those tapes."

"Why did it take you so long, anyway? How come you didn't want me back in high school like I wanted you?"

Raylan reached a hand up and combed his fingers through Boyd's hair, which was now all over the place. "I sort of did," he said, "but then I'd look at you with that stupid bi-level and it would make me laugh. In my head, you looked just like this. I did tell you to get a haircut, if you recall, but you didn't take the hint."

"Oh," Boyd said, looking embarrassed that he'd missed a clue. 

Raylan picked up the jar from where Boyd had wedged it on the dash, unscrewed the top and said, "Should we drink to new traditions again?"

"I think," Boyd said, taking the jar from Raylan, "that we should drink to music." He took a long pull from the jar, then leaned forward to kiss Raylan, spilling some liquid he'd held back into his mouth. It was cool and shocking, and somehow sent a signal to his dick to start getting hard again.

"To music," Raylan echoed, pulling Boyd's hand between his legs. "Hey," he said as a question he'd always had occurred to him, "why didn't you name any of the tapes?"

"Oh, I did in my head," Boyd said, "but I was afraid you'd figure it out from that. This one is called _Outlaws and Assholes._ "

Raylan laughed. "But it's all love songs."

"Exactly," Boyd replied. "Who's a bigger asshole than a man in love? And we're the outlaws, Raylan. You know that."

"Hmmm," Raylan said, pushing into Boyd's hand as he tried to unbutton his jeans. "I do feel kinda _bad_." Boyd laughed at him, and he looked up sheepishly. "I don't really do sexy talk," he said.

"Oh, Raylan," Boyd said, sliding his zipper down. "It's all sexy." He touched him, and Raylan's mouth fell open. Boyd shook his head. "I really don't know what I'm doing."

"You're doing fine," Raylan said, capturing his mouth again. "We're fine. This is...oh...fine. Boyd, fuck, that's..."

Boyd got him off easily, and Raylan felt helpless against it. He felt greedy for it, like he could go again and again, all night. "You want me to do something for you?" Raylan asked him.

"Not yet. Can we listen to the music and just sit for awhile?"

Raylan thought that sounded real nice, so he smiled at Boyd and flipped the tape over. Boyd leaned against the passenger side door, and Raylan only hesitated for a second before turning to lay back into him. His heart beat hard and fast again as he let Boyd settle an arm over his chest, and he closed his eyes as he got his breathing under control. 

The tape had been flipped back to side one, and they listened all the way through, talking about whatever the songs called to mind. Not surprisingly, Boyd had a lot of opinions. 

Occasionally they kissed, and Raylan got a thrill each time, from the newness, the strangeness, and the fact that it was something he'd never expected, never thought possible, but that he'd wanted even more than he'd admitted to himself.

The last song on the second side was Raylan's favorite song on the whole thing, maybe his favorite one on any of the tapes, barring the Bob Dylan album. It was called "The Ballad of El Goodo," and there was a verse in it that went:

_There's people around who tell you that they know  
And places where they send you and it's easy to go  
They'll zip you up and dress you down and stand you in a row  
But you know you don't have to, you can just say, "No"_

Raylan loved that. He could listen to this song over and over, just like he felt like he could come again and again with Boyd and never be spent. 

"I love this one, Boyd," Raylan said, turning his head so his lips grazed Boyd's jaw. 

"I knew you would," Boyd replied. "I like where it says, 'They'll get theirs and we'll get ours if you can just hold on.' That's what I think too. That's what Harlan's all about. Holding on."

"Maybe," Raylan said, "but it ain't about saying no. It ain't about sticking to any guns."

"No, I guess not, but it is about trying hard against strong odds, ain't it?"

Raylan nodded. He sort of felt like Boyd was missing part of the point of the song, but he didn't want to argue. He wanted to kiss Boyd some more, and he wanted to touch him the way he'd done, and he wanted to stay here all night and not go home.

"Can we sleep here?" he asked.

"Yep," Boyd said. I got no place else to be."


End file.
